


Luckiest Fool

by Tak138



Series: Commissions [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Corporal Punishment, F/M, Gender Role Reversal, Gender Roles, Gentle femdom, Kidnapping, Matriarchy, No Sex, Only One Tent, kind of, medieval setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tak138/pseuds/Tak138
Summary: CommissionGist of request: horny dude in distress, medieval role reversal, femdom





	Luckiest Fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brachydios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brachydios/gifts).



 

He had spent four days locked in this infernal room. To the wall, he had just enough room to make it to the bucket in the far corner. The dark was so complete that he usually had to find it by memory. Soren supposed he should be grateful for the hay cot that had been allotted to him, but he didn't want to spare these people any gratitude.

The fading light under the door told him another day had gone by. It was the only thing that allowed him to track the passing time. He thought they might be keeping him in some sort of castle, and they may very well be, but based on the wooden exterior wall, Soren figured it had to be some sort of barn. That, and the stench of horses was unmistakable, he knew it well. His Lady always tried to take him riding every other day; it was one of the few tasks he was allowed beyond his studies.

His Lady-- she wasn't really his Lady, but he called her that in his head. Soren had been trying not think of her. Saints, she would be so disappointed on him.

There was nothing to stimulate the mind; just him, his bucket, and a beetle that sometimes skittered through a crack in the wall. Occasionally, a horse would nicker. For the first time, he missed his studies.

There was a knock on the door, a crooning voice. Soren stiffened.

“Hope you're awake, Dollface,”Jema crooned, as she sidled in, blocking the view with her broad set body. At least, he thought that might be her name. She seemed like a Jema. She closed the door, setting a bowl down by his leg.

A glance told him it was the same broth and bread. He bit his lip, “Does this mean…?”

Jema grinned. “That's right. Mommy made another payment, so eat up.”

Soren carefully took the bowl, savoring the warmth as it seeped into his finger tips. The ransom on his head was astronomical, a desperate country vying after a desperate kingdom with a broken pawn. There was no way his mother was going to waste their precious money buying him back. They both knew it, but until her employer made a move, he only got to eat when his mother paid something. Probably a fistful of gold at a time.

A sudden, squeezing hand on his thigh made Soren jolt, spilling broth down his front.

“Dirty boy,”Jema cooed. Soren jerked away, wriggling free of her hand. “Oh, come on. Don't be like that.”

“You can't,”he whispered desperately, “I already belong to someone.”

Jema smirked, her grip turning painful, “You think that matters?”

Dread curdled in his stomach. “I don't belong to you. I'm not your whore to--”

A resounding crack cut him off, his head knocked against the wall.

“Mind your tone, Boy,”Jema quipped.

Soren swallowed, rubbing his cheek. “Yes ma'am,”he croaked, “I'm sorry.”

She snatched the bowl from him, dumping it on the floor before his miserable eyes. “Any man that lays with a woman before his wedding night is a whore where I come from. Be grateful we don't sell you to a brothel.”

“Yes ma'am,”Soren agreed He averted his eyes, letting Jema glare roave over him. And then she left, leaving him alone again. In the dark, with nothing but his bucket and the beetle.

The zound of the lock turned into place was rapidly becoming the worst thing he'd ever heard.

 

He met his Lady the day she became a knight, and wanted her on instant. She was kind, minded him like a man and not an item to barter. Somehow, by the Saints’ graces, she was able to ignore the acts of his past-- he wasn't a very virtuous young man, and it had cost him dearly. Most women walked by him like he was a stain on the floor, even his kin. Not Gwen.

Gwendolyn had been the most beautiful woman Soren had seen, to date. Hair like snow, eyes a gilded amber. He would stare for hours on end, heedless of her teasings.

As damning as his indiscretions had been, Soren couldn't regret them. If he still had his virtue, he wouldn't have been able to court her. He'd been allowed to kiss her twice, probably the two best days of his life.

She must be beyond furious with him. He was to never go beyond his suite without the company of a guard. A prince, even an unwed whore, was prime territory for the taking. He'd just wanted to go for a walk, without someone breathing down his neck. Enjoy some fresh air.

Get stolen.

Soren wondered how many attempts his guards had to fight off on a weekly basis, if it worried Gwen. Because, sharp as she was, she had to know.

 

Yet she always seemed happy enough, always an arm around his shoulders. He missed her. A lot. So fucking much.

 

Resting his head against wall, Soren tucked his knees into his chest. Ignored the pain in his stomach. The bread was a mercy, a very pointed one at that, but it definitely wasn't enough. He rubbed his eyes, the manacle biting into his neck. Was his mother even worried? He did have a sister, the true heir to the throne. She was safe, studying in the mountains to the south.

A son was meant to be a gambling chip, a means of connection. She wasn't sentimental, so he was worthless to her.

Something tickled his hand. It was the beatle again, blue black and speckled white. Soren watched it, throat bobbing. He wanted to go home. See his family, his dog. The poor pooch had to be as miserable as he was.

Time slowed to a crawl. He paced, scuffed at the dirty floor. He drew faces in the dust when there was enough light, and then hastily wiped them away. They made him too homesick.

Shamefully, his thoughts drifted most often to Gwen. She never touched him, not really. Out of respect of his past, or for her own honor, he didn't know. Sometimes she would toy with him, though. While he was supposed to be studying, she would comb a hand through his hand, nudge his cheek with her own. When he was supposed to be practicing the flute, she would come up behind him, hands on his back end, and read the sheet music over his shoulder. 

Soren knew he would never be allowed to stand alongside her, not when everyone knew. It was over before it began. And yet he longed for her. So terribly that at night, his body ached with it. He was allowed to eat with her, allowed to visit shows and galas with her. That was enough. 

Saints. Soren wanted to see her just so he could tell her he was sorry. She had to be mad, raving, roaring mad.

So rarely did she get angry with him. When she was agitated, or he was feeling off, Soren would lie himself across her lap and let her coo over him. It always made them both feel better. Other times, she would threaten to lash him with her belt; he'd bat his lashes and say ‘please?’.

Sometimes, she was just stare at him. If he fought with his mother, or disappeared without notice. “ _You act like the whore they call you,_ ” she would say, and part of him would die. “ _How can we protect you if we don't know where you are?”_

She would watch him, expression hard, almost a glare. It was awful, worse than any scolding he could endure.

Once before, he wandered off without a care, and vagabonds came at him with their blades on a back market road. Ready to steal him for their games. His guards rescued him just in time. When Gwen had met them at the gates, he thought she was going to set the city on fire.

“ _You fool_ ,” she had snarled, shaking him like a ragdoll. By the Saints’ mercy, she kept it from his mother. But her face was red and her eyes wild, as she threw a fresh set of clothes in his way. “ _You stupid, stupid boy. What were you thinking?”_ The attack hadn't hurt him nearly as much as that had. The fear that she might think of him as everyone else did was so resounding that he'd had to flee. Locked himself in the bathing room and sat in the empty tub, cried for hours. Then he'd gone to her, still in tears, apologizing and begging over and over until she pulled him in for a hug.

Finally, Jema returned. Soren clenched his hands, knees drawn in tight. Fighting will against nerve to stop his trembling. The first thing he noticed was that she carried no food, much to the disappointment of his grumbling belly. The second was that she carried a piece of paper. And a smirk.

“What is it?”he whispered, licking his cracked lips.

Jema snickered, “It's a letter from my employer. Apparently, Momma’s running out of money.”

His mouth went dry. “Has she… has she said anything? Written any letters?”Soren asked, trying to keep the urgency from his voice.

“Dunno,”Jema shrugged. She was grinning like a cat. “Our spies say she stopped sending payments after the last one. Doesn't believe you're ‘worth it’.”

_Saints save me._

Some part of him guttered. He tried to keep from imagining the shame his mother had to be feeling. He was already defiled, and now he had been captured by the enemy.

“What…”it was so difficult to speak. The agony of his throbbing heart, shame an ocean threatening to drown him. “What happens to me now?”

“Not up to me. I imagine you'll end up someone's concubine, not worth much more.”

“I was useless to her,”he sniffed. “You're asking a beggar to hand you a fortune, giving nothing in return. You must have known it was hopeless from the start.”

The gleam in her eye confirmed exactly that. “Maybe she could have scrounged up a little more if she cared for you and not your bits. But alas, it didn't happen.”

Soren bit his lip until blood welled, tears swelling in his throat.

“You probably have a couple days until we find you a nice pretty mistress,”Jema hummed. She dragged a finger down his forehead, between his eyes and up his nose, coming to gently prod at his lips. “Enjoy your last hours of freedom, hm?”

She withdrew, and Soren hated the way his body longed after her warmth. It wasn't that it was cold, he missed the easy affection of his life before. With Gwen.

From the inside pocket of her jacket, Jema produce a water skin and tossed it at him. “Be a good boy while I'm gone, okay?”she crooned, winking like he was apart of some inside joke.

She left him with a little pat on the head. Soren couldn't even bring himself to lift his arms and drink. He sat, numb and reeling, for a good long while. Until the light under the door faded.

Part of him had thought Gwen would come for him. That she cared enough to fight for him, to find him. In his heart, Soren knew better. She was a lovely, glorious woman. Deserving of far better than him.

It was three days later when Jema returned. The water had barely lasted him two, the hunger aches a constant, gnawing pain. Every step made the room spin, his heart race. He couldn't occupy a thought long enough to even draw.

Worse than that was the loneliness. Having spent several years guards upon guards protecting his back, the empty room, often cleft in darkness, was a nightmare.

He accidently stepped on the white-marked beetle. It broke his heart. Half mad babbles, probing and poking the poor thing in hopes that it would to life. Apologizing over and over and over. As if it would fix everything.

When the lock shifted, something snagged his attention. Jema's key was always quick, kicking in the door with a merry grin. This was slow. Tentative. The lock turned into place, barely more than a click. He watched, drunk on fear and hunger, as the door cracked open just a sliver. Then it was blown wide.

He recognized her hair first, white blond, and lunged against the chain, “Gwen!”

She came flying, lock picks in hand “Are you hurt?”she demanded, grabbing at the manacle around his neck. “Are you wounded?”

Soren couldn't stop sobbing, grasping for her, desperate to touch and know she was real. Whimpering, he asked, “How are you here? How did you find me?”

Under her ministrations, the manacle sprung free and clattered to the floor. “Not now Princeling. We should move; she might have compatriots.” He lurched, wrapping his arms around her neck as she hefted him up. When they left the small room behind, Soren wasn't at all surprised to see it was just a shed at the back of a small stables.

He choked back another whine at the sight of his horse, Monty, tethered nearby. Gwen pushed him into the saddle, and he took a second to right himself while she stepped up behind him. The night was cold, biting against the wet of his cheeks; he sank into his Lady’s warmth, sniffling, wiping his face, and tried not to make a fool of himself as he tilted his face upwards to drink in the moonlight

 

The stables, their stench, faded away within a few meters. Soren wasn't sure why he expected so much permanence from a simple building. Or why half of him expected the next step to be halted by the chain. His prison vanished as easily as they did, Gwen leading them silently up a hill between the woods. The urge to speak to her, to throw himself at her and beg for forgiveness, was almost stifling.

Her heart pounded in tune to his own. The further they got away, the slower their beats became. Monty remained surefooted over the uneven terrain, never faltering. Carrying them further and further away. Closer to home.

“Are you hurt?”Gwen asked at last. Soren realized that he hadn't answered.

“No.”

Her arm tightened around his middle, freehand gently urging Monty around a large boulder. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere. She didn't touch me-- not really.”

“Not really?”

Soren swallowed. “She hit me, a couple of times. Just smacks.”

Gwen was silent for a long minute, and Soren held his breath. Waiting for the damnation. the blame, for her to tell him that he deserved that and worse. That he was a fool and an idiot and she would have hit him too-- but she only grunted,

“She lies dead, by my blade.”

Something cold settled settled in his stomach. A gross weight that was both comforting and wretched. “Thank you,”he whispered, “For that, and more for saving me. How did you find me?”

“I remembered speaking to her before you were stolen,”Gwen said at length. “She was playing a bard-- she mentioned coming this way. Hers was the only new face in the castle before you disappeared. I took a guess; then when I saw her, I had to track her.”

Soren started, twisting in the saddle. “She mentioned more spies--”

She shushed him, running a hand over his nappy hair, “Don't you worry about that, Princeling. We'll take care of it. Right now, we need to get you out of the area.”

“And something to eat?”he supplied hopefully. He could almost sense her scowl, fingers playing across his ribs like a piano.

“She didn't feed you.”

“Not… often. Whenever my mother made a payment.”

Gwen snorted, “Twice, then; over the course of a week? The witch. We'll stop soon.”

Soren went silent, focused on the warm body pressed against his. He needed to apologize to her as soon as possible.

Running his fingers through Monty's mane, Soren closed his eyes and leaning into Gwen’s chest. “How are things back home?”he whispered. “She said my mother was going to stop paying..”

“She did. She didn't think it was worth the gold, especially with the state of everything.”

Somehow, it hurt more to hear her say it. “But I'm her son,”he whispered.

“I know,”Gwen whispered, “Just try and take it easy, I'll get you home.”

“Yes Ma'am,”he responded, falling silent.

 

Gwen didn't speak to him again for a good few hours. By the time they stopped to rest, the sky was shifting to gold.

Paused on top of hill tucked within the dwindling woods, Gwen helped him dismount, catching him when his legs buckled. Soren went straight to his knees.

“I'm sorry,”he rasped. Gwen narrowed her eyes,

“Why?”

The sun was too bright, too harsh for his skin. He grappled for her shirt, fingers fumbling, and held fast. “I'm sorry for all of this. I'm sorry you had to come out here-- save me,”Soren rambled, tears stinging his eyes, “I know I deserved it, and worse, and I was stupid and disobedient and--”

Gwen took his hands on hers, squeezing so tight he whined. Her expression was cold, ashen, as she said, “You deserved none of this. None of it Soren. Do you understand me? You deserved a smack, and a scolding, but not this.”

“What do you mean?”he sniffed. “This is what I get.”

“Oh, Soren,”she sighed.

Gwen urged him to lean against a nearby trew, passing him a pouch full of venison. As he ate, he watched her. She leant against his horse's side, maybe dozing. Since her eyes closed, Soren was free to watch her. He was thankful for that, because Soren didn't think he could meet her eyes. They would either be sad, or angry. He had never been able to stand either.

Tying the empty bag closed, he quietly asked, “Where are we?”

“That was a town called Roul, close to the border. Now, we're heading towards Saints’ Ridge; the pass is the quickest way home.”

“How long will it take?”

“A few days, maybe less.”

“... Are you mad at me?”

Gwen just sighed, tipped her head back. “No, Sweetheart. I'm not mad at you.”

He made to rise, and the world tipped so hard he dropped to his knees.

Soren swallowed, elbows to the dirt, rubbing the buzz from his temples. He needed to-- to get closer. Too far. Skin to skin; he needed to feel her. But he couldn't walk. Everytime he tried, his eyes went wild and the sky turned white.

His heart began to thrum, a hollow ringing in his ears.

“Gwen--"he mewled. She was instantly upon him, rolling him to his back and pressing a water skin to his lips. Soren drank as much as she would let him, gasping when it pulled away. “What's happening to me?”

Her fingers sought his throat, felt along either side. “Too much too fast,”she said simply. She turned to grab something off of her belt, but he snagged her wrist.

“Am I dying?”

She made a strangled sound that just might have been a laugh. “No, no, your body just needs to readjust to the strain--”

“Then don't move.” He blinked open his eyes, managing a little smile. “You're blocking the sun.”

“You're incorrigible,”she snorted. That was definitely a laugh. Taking him gently by the under arms, Gwen tugged him up into her lap, ran her hands down his side. He felt it again, those harmonious beats, the clicking of two stones fitting perfectly together.

Soren closed his eyes, focus narrowing to each place their bodies met. He whispered, “Saints, I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Probably more than you'd believe.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead.

He basked in it, face splitting into a massive grin. “I can’t believe you came all the way out here to find me”

“You didn’t think I would?”

He paused, “Well, I thought you might…”

Gwen ran a the back of her hand along his cheek, brushing his hair from his face. “You thought what? That I would leave you to be some dowager’s whore?”

“You’re a busy woman,”he murmured, “I… didn’t think you’d find it worth your time. That maybe you’d delegate, or just… move on.”

There was a sudden, achy quiet. Gwen’s touch, which had paused on his temple, vanished entirely. “I’m sorry,”Soren croaked. He started to rise, scramble to his knees. “I didn’t-- you’re wonderful and amazing and so, so great, I-i just thought that--”

She held up a hand, expression flat. Soren promptly shut his mouth. “You thought that I would just ‘move on’?”Gwen echoed. Her tone matched her face.

“I’m sorry--”

“Have I given you a reason to think me so callous?”

“No!”he said urgently, “I-i just know that this is temporary for you, and I--”

Gwen gaped, “Temporary? Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I’m already a whore!” Soren blurted. “I’m already a disgrace, and I know you can’t want that. You shouldn’t want that. You deserve someone perfect and pure. Not me.”

“Perfect and pure,” Gwen echoed, deadpanned. Soren had to look away, cover his face with his hands.

He’d ruined it. As he did everything good in his life, he went and ruined this too.

Through his hands, Soren rambled, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t feel bad, it’s okay, I understand, it’s alright.”

“Be quiet.”

The order punched through him, and he obeyed. Shrunk in on himself, willed the ground to break apart and swallow him alive. Then there were hands on his, prying them away from his face. Fingers laced through his. Opening his eyes, Soren found that Gwen had gotten very close, her face mere inches from his.

“I need you to listen to me very, very closely,”she whispered. There was nothing kind on her face, her eyes sharp as the blade she wielded. “I don’t know who put the idea of this being temporary in your head, but I want you to forget it. Nothing about this is temporary to me. Do you understand?”

He didn’t. It made about as much sense as a cat taking a swim. He whispered “You can’t want me. It’s not right, you deserve--”

Gwen snapped, “To hell with what I do and do not deserve. I want you. I don’t care if you’ve had sex before, with one or a dozen ladies. You’re the one I want.”

Soren could only look at their hands, unable to bring himself to meet her eyes. “I do not understand,”he moaned, “Why? What is my worth if I will never truly belong to you?”

“Soren, I don’t have to bed you for you to be mine. To who does your heart belong ?”

He shuddered, brought her hands to his face, rested his brow against her knuckles. “You, my Lady.”

“And your body? Who owns that?”

“You do,”he whispered, “It’s been yours since the day we met.”

Gwen took him gently by the chin, lifting his head so he could look her in the eye. “Then I don’t need your first time. I just need all of the subsequent times, henceforth. Can you promise me that?”

“If you’ll have me, I’ll give you everything I have to offer ,”Soren whispered. She chuckled, her face going soft again, and kissed him.

For a moment, he forgot all of his aches. The bruising around his neck, the hollowness of his belly. Everything faded as she wound a hand through his hair, the other holding his chin in place. It was chaste, far more so than he would have liked, but Saints be damned if it wasn’t glorious. Heat began to spread through his gut. Soren pressed against her, chest to chest, fingers finding purchase on the front of her armor. Leaning into the kiss, seeking more, hoping--

Gwen pulled away, lips red, kiss-swollen, grinning. “I don’t intend on taking you on a hill in the middle of nowhere, so try not to get your hopes up.”

Too late, Soren thought.

She tugged him back to the tree, letting him nurse the rest of the waterskin while she paced about, admiring the terrain. Or keeping an eye out for threats; either or, Soren enjoyed watching her from behind. Hating his body simultaneously, but enjoying the view nonetheless. Why not a hill in the middle of nowhere? It wasn’t like they were likely to be interrupted. At least, not by anyone they knew. And certainly not his father, who never learned how to knock.

But standing was still difficult for him. His thigh muscles howled anytime he tried. Sex was probably the last thing his body needed, even if a certain, smaller body thought differently.

Monty grazed closeby, and Soren held out a hand for him. “Hey boy,”he whispered, when the horse nudged his hand, “Long way from home, aren’t we?”

“You should have seen him while you were missing,”Gwen said as she approached. “He was all over the place, bit a groom while I was having him saddled.”

“Wretched thing,”he whispered, fondly tapping Monty’s nose. The horse flicked his ear and pranced away.

Settling down besides him, Gwen leaned her head against the tree. “And the dog too-- Saints, the dog! He never stopped whining, not even for a second.”

“He’s never been a quiet thing,”Soren breathed, thinking of the fox-sized puffball he’d been gifted for his birthday. By Gwen, actually.

They stayed there for a long while, until Soren could stand on his own without stumbling like a newborn foal. Gwen helped him into the saddle, then followed behind him. As she steered the way down the slope, Monty sure-footed over the uneven terrain, she asked, “Did you truly think I was just toying with you? Using you for kisses and status?”

He gripped the horn of the saddle for support, flexed his protesting muscles. “I didn’t… not like that,”Soren sighed. “I thought you would just find someone else, eventually. That you were intrigued by me, maybe invested. Then one day, a pretty, virtuous man would walk by and I would be forgotten. Old gossip.”

“You are an odd man, Princeling,”she replied. “It has been-- what, three years? Had I not proved you wrong yet?”

Soren shrugged, “I thought I was running out of time.”

“Well, when we get back, I’ll have to prove you wrong. Give you what you've always wanted.”

He twisted, peering at her incredulously over his shoulder. Gwen snickered, “Now, now. Don’t give me that look. I’m not going to propose to you just yet. I still have to ask your mother.”

“So what did you mean?”

Looking straight ahead, Gwen smirked, “I simply meant that I was finally going to give you the strapping you always begged for.”

 

They reached Saints’ Ridge at dusk. The long, jagged strip of rock went on for miles in either direction, jutting high into the sky. Gwen set up their camp at it's base in an alcove of smooth stone, sending him to the nearby steam to wash up.

“It can't be that bad,”he’d grumbled, plucking at his tunic.

Gwen just stared at him, blank faced, and said, “Soren, you mean the world to me. Truly. But you stink like a stable, and you're filthy.”

“I don't have any clothes to change into,”he protested, “You want me to walk around with my bits out? In what world is that proper.”

“I have a set of my own you can wear; I'll wash yours and leave them to dry overnight. And since when did you have an aversion to bathing? Not enough soaps and oils for the pampered princeling?”she teased.

His face flaming, Soren had turned and stumbled towards the water, trying not to look back.

It was down a small hill, trickling away from a crevice in the rock. He swallowed, glanced over his shoulder. Monty grazed at the hill's crest, but he couldn't see Gwen at all. It was probably intentionally on her part, offering him some semblance of privacy. And leaving him completely exposed.

He knew that wasn't reality. Gwen wouldn't have loosed him if she felt threatened in the area. She could see for miles, and Soren didnt doubt that the second she sensed danger, Gwen would be peeling down after him.

And yet, as he undressed, Soren watched the forest. Grey trees, minimal undergrowth. There weren't a whole lot of places to hide, but it would be too difficult for an archer to fire.

He stepped into the stream, and hissed as the cold bit into his skin. “Just get me back to send me off on my own again? Brilliant,”Soren growled, as he scrubbed a week’s worth of dirt and sweat from his body

_I simply meant that I was finally going to give you the strapping you always begged for._

Soren grit his teeth, blood heating. The temptress. Saints above, she was going to be the death of him. Yet another reason to hurry home.

The water was barely high enough to reach his calves, so he had to kneel to get at his face and hair. Gwen's words played over and over in his mind, the devil's symphony. He scrubbed his thighs, pausing to ghost a touch over the finger-shaped bruising up towards his groin. He didn't want to think of her. Didn't want that voice to stain his mind. Gwen wasn't soft, or flowery, but her voice was always calm with him. Kind.

Jema was viperous. A Whore-Maker. A defiler. Soren was glad she was dead.

“How's the water?”

He whirled, finding Gwen standing on the bank, eyes closed. Soren sighed. Relaxed. “Cold,”he said, “But it feels nice… You know I don't mind if you look, Gwen.”

“I mind,”Gwen responded. “I want the first time I see you bare to mean something.” She set clothes on a nearby stone, ran her fingers through the sandy earth, and settled down on the ground. The wind picked up, catching the water sliding down his body.

“Would this… not mean something?” Soren murmurs, as he slipped into her clothes. He practically drowned in the pants, but her shirt fit just enough to keep from hanging off of him.

Gwen tilted her head, contemplative. At length she told him, “It's like earlier today. Sure, I could take you. I could look you up and down right now, if I wanted. But I am,”she twirls a finger, indicated the woods, “distracted. Until we get you safe and properly secure, I'm going to be distracted. I want to be able to take my time with you; enjoy it fully.”

As he finished tying the pants closed, Soren murmured, “You can look now.”

Gwen opened her eyes, smirking. “My my,”she mused, “Who knew you looked so handsome in my clothes.”

 

They ate rabbits for dinner. Seated across the fire from one another, his clothes washed and drying on a nearby boulder, Soren finished off the last bit of his meal.

“Thank you,”he said, patting his full belly, “For that, and your pants. I don't think I would be able to fit into mine after that.”

Gwen hummed thoughtfully, staring into the fire. “I shouldn't have let you eat that all at once. It might be too much for your body to adjust to.”

Soren frowned, looked up at the sky. Night had descended on Saints’ Ridge, blanketing the surround wood in inky black.

“There are so many stars,”he murmured, “We never seen this many back home.”

“It’s all the light of the city. It shrouds the sky,”Gwen explained. He nodded his agreement, though he'd never really be one to study such things.

“Do you know any of the constellations?”he asked her. Gwen pursed her lips, eyes scanning, then pointed.

“You see the one right there; incredibly bright, a breath to the left from the red one?”

Soren settled back on his elbows, sought the star indicated. “Yea-- yes, I think so.”

“That's the north star, at the peak of Majan’s Crown.”

“The Guide,”he muses, “We're following her, aren't we?”

Gwen smiled. “Indeed. As long as I've lived, I've followed Majan home.”

Soren looked at her, biting his lip. She pointed to another star, called it the Ship. He didn't recognize that one, but the childlike glee on her face just about kicked the breath out of him. Finally, he went to speak, but yawned instead.

Pausing, Gwen looked at him. “Ready for bed?”

He nodded, clambered to his feet. He bid her a goodnight, and then missed a step.

“Gwen,”Soren hedged, “There's only one tent.”

“I know.”

“... there are two of us.”

“I know,”she repeated, “You declared yourself mine. I figured it was time we shared a place at night.”

Soren swallowed, his body going taut as he thought of the implications.

“If you'd really rather two tents, I have another,”Gwen offered.

“N… no.” He shook his head. “No, I don't mind. I was just…. Surprised.”

Soren wiped his sweaty hands off on her pants. Sucking in a deep breath, he made for the lean-to. It was smaller than he imagined. Much smaller. Barely-enough-room-for-two small. He forced himself down, slipping beneath the canvas cover and into the furs within.

These must have been what was bundled to the back of Monty's saddle, he thought, as he pillowed his head on one of the fox pelts. It was even smaller on the inside. More wide than it was long, Soren had to tuck in his legs to keep them from poking through. If he reached up, he could have touched the roof without even partially extending his arm. Same went for the entrance.

And she was going to be sharing it with him? Fuck.

Was she serious? She had to be serious. Unless she meant to sleep out in the open all night. There were no other tents pitched. That meant she had to be serious. Right?

Soren pressed a hand to his chest, willing his heart to steady. It had been ages since he last shared a bed with a woman. Ever since the midnight tryst with that stable worker that had pounced on the opportunity to shatter his reputation.

Please, Saints, please.

He wasn't sure what exactly he was begging for. For Gwen to keep her word, to spend the night nestled into her bosom. Or for her to sleep in the trees and avoid him wholeheartedly.

It wasn't the latter.

He wanted her. So horrifically that his mind shuttered to a halt every time they touched. And he had her. She had claimed him-- he was hers. Hers to touch, to cuddle however she pleased.

Saints, he needed a cuddle.

Outside, Gwen doused the fire, kicking dirt over the embers. She whispered a few words to Monty, the large thing bickered in response. Some uneasy part of him that Soren hadn't been aware of settled. Monty was a perfectly trained gelding, and would not wander while they slept.

“I'll be with you in a minute, Princeling,”Gwen chimed. Her voice send a spear of fire through his gut, and Soren shuddered. _Whore_. He hissed it in silence, trying to cull the desire kindling in his stomach _. Quell yourself, wench. You are better than this. She deserves better than this._

Gwen returned a moment later, a water skin in hand. He heard her whisper goodnight to the horse, and then she was climbing in. Soren jolted, vacating, retreating, prepared to relinquish as much space as she needed-- she held up a hand, the bulk of her almost blocking out the moonlight.

“It's okay,”she whispered, “It's alright. I'm not going to touch you without your say so, okay? I'm just going to lay down, and you can do whatever you like, okay?”

He wanted to kiss her, or strangle her. Giving him this choice, letting him decide. It swelled his heart, and made everything ache.

“I-im not-- It's not you...,”he choked. “Just… the last time I lied with a woman…”

Gwen nodded. She closed to tent flap, plunging them into the sharp dark. He stayed perfectly still, listening to her movements. The pelts shifted, the tent grew warmer. Then stillness. Perfect stillness.

“Be forewarned,”Gwen murmured, voice rough. “I am armed. There is a blade in my right hand; it is at the ready, for your defense.”

Soren swallowed, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I did not want you frightened if you happened upon it..”

“Oh… kay,”he whispered. “Thank you.”

Gwen murmured something in response. Maybe a goodnight? And then she was silent. Throat bobbing, Soren inched back down, trying to summon the courage to settle his breathing.

_What the hell do I need courage for?_

And what was it that had driven hm to behave like this? It was Gwen; the most honorable woman Soren had ever met. In the dark, he nibbled his lip. Perhaps his body remembered what followed lying with women. Shame and fear and disaster-- each a dagger, sharp and destroying.

Or maybe it was because, in the dark, Gwen could have been confused with Jema.

That was foolish. Infinitely, unendingly foolish. The two were completely different. They were both broad shouldered women, but that was where the similarities ended.

He listened to the way she breathed, deep, sleep-heavy, and turned. A sliver of moonlight filtered through a weak point in the canvas, catching part of the knife clutched in her hand.

It didn't scare him as much as he thought it might.

Gradually, Soren settled down. He drew a deer pelt over his chest, fingered the softness of its fur. Besides him Gwen shifted, and he went stiff. She sucked in a breath-- then snored.

He sagged. “You're discrete, aren't you,”Soren whispered.

Finally he closed the rest of the distance between them, letting his shoulder brush her back. Gwen didn't move.

Soren dared to scooch even nearer, until their legs brushed, and their bodies were flushed. Still, Gwen didn't make a sound.

When he rallied himself, cursed his fear to hell and rolled, pressing up against her. his nose buried in the crook of her neck, Gwen only breathed.

When his heart stopped thundering, his chest stopped trembling, and he looped an arm over her belly, she laid still as stone.

But as Soren closed his eyes, he realized she was smiling.

 

 

“Well, I suppose that went as well as expected.”

Soren groaned, flopping onto his bed. “Sure, _you_ say that,”he grumbled, “You didn’t just get yelled at for twenty minutes.”

From where she was leant against against his door, Gwen picked at her nails. “Fair enough. But just think of the chat your guards must have gotten.” Sitting up, Soren groaned again.

“I thought they would be happy to have me back.”

“They are,”Gwen says. Her brow pinched, narrowed, like she was peering at him from a long distance. “I think they’re just frightened for you. Besides, it’s not like you didn’t deserve a little yelling.”

They had arrived at the palace not yet an hour ago, and already Soren was missing the freedom of the outside world.

Soren combed his hands through his hair, sighing heavily, “Is it so bad to want a few minutes to breathe on my own?”

“When it puts your life in danger? Absolutely. That reminds me--” She started towards him, unbuckling her belt and doubling it over. “On your belly.”

“What-- what?” he scrambled away, further up the bed. Gwen caught his ankle and flipped him over.

“I’m going to give you that strapping you wanted.”

Soren kicked, trying to twist-- Gwen caught him by the neck, and held him easily in place. She said, “None of that. I’ll give you ten, but try to fight again and I’ll add five more.”

He gaped, heart racing. “You can’t be serious!”

“You don’t get to coo at me for years about this only to panic when I finally take you up on your word, Princeling,”she told him.

As he writhed, Soren gasped, “But I haven’t done anything! I’ve--” Gwen cut him off with a sharp swat to the back of his thigh.

“You went off without a guard, again, and got yourself kidnapped. You scared the hell out of me, and your parents. That’s a punishable offense if I’ve ever heard one. Take off your pants.”

A shudder ran through him, his face flooding with heat. “Gwen…”

“Now it’s fifteen. Drop. The. Pants.”

He wanted to question the logic of taking off his pants face down like this, but he knew better than to open his mouth. Scrambling to untie his pants, Soren kicked them off-- panicked when he couldn't manage it, then went loose as Gwen tugged them down the rest of the way. They landed with a soft woosh somewhere across the room.

He shivered as she ran a ran down his thigh, thumb grazing the almost faded bruises left by Jema’s hand. Gently, Gwen murmured to him, “Take a breath, Princeling. You asked for this, you want this.”

Soren swore, bare skin tingling. “Yes, my lady,”he breathed, but the rest of his words wouldn’t come out. “I… “

“You can say it. I won’t make fun of you.”

“I… I want it.”

“Good,”Gwen whispered, and he could hear the smile in her voice. Fire kindled in his gut, sparks of arousal chiming through him.

Suddenly, Soren was thankful he was on his belly.

“Ready?”

He released a shaky breath. “Yes my lady.”

The belt whacked against his backside, quick and stinging. “A--aah!”

Three more, like pinpoint strikes of lightning criss crossing his thighs. Soren panted, cock hardening beneath him, and fisted the sheets. “You’ve-- ah, you’ve done this before?” he asked.

Another strike. Soren keened, tears welling.

“I’ve strapped a couple of other people, yes.” A sharp lash covered both of his thighs. “Mostly servants that stepped out of line-- I’ve never done it on an ass though. Yours is pretty cute; though I think it would look better it red.”

Two strikes in quick successions, overlapping either cheek. He yelped, hands flying to the wounded areas.

“No,”Gwen admonished, moving his hands back to his sides. “You’re fighting it. You need to relax.”

“But--”

“No buts. Stop talking, stop thinking. Just let it happen. We’ll be doing that one over.”

Soren groaned, forced his body to go loose as the repeat-strike flared through him. Gwen hummed, gently rubbing his ankle,

“There’s a good boy. You’re getting it.”

The rest of the smacks came in quick succession. Soren forced himself to do as she commanded, to stop thinking and only feel. Listen to the swish of the belt, mewl at the lovely ache it left behind.

Gwen paused once more, looking over her handiwork. He didn’t know how many strikes had passed, had forced himself to stop counting. Just letting it happen.

Abruptly, he heard the belt hit the ground, and Gwen came sprawling out next to him, grinning like a fiend.

“Was that…”he swallowed, “was that fifteen?”

“That was fifteen, Princeling. How does it feel?”

Soren blinked, wiped the tears off of his face, and cautiously reached for his backside. It throbbed, warm to the touch. And damn him if he wasn’t going to spend the next thirty minutes thinking of the most sinful things-- only the strongest dredges of his will and shame kept him from rutting against the sheets like a dog.

But his nerves had ebbed. The ache of being yelled at had faded, replaced by that hot thrumming. His hands had stopped shaking, and he didn’t feel nearly as awful.

“That was… cathartic.”

Gwen chuckled, rewarding him with a kiss on the nose. “That’s the point, Princeling. Helps center the mind.”

Tentatively, Soren inched over, buried himself under her arm. Making sure his groin was kept out of the picture. “May I be honest with you, my lady?”

“Sure,”Gwen snorted.

“... If that was supposed to be a punishment, it’s going to be counterproductive.”

She laughed, full bodied and booming. “Oh Princeling, that was barely a punishment. You suffered enough for your actions, that was an introduction. I usually do thirty to forty for a punishment, depending.”

He stilled. “Forty?”

“Yes, forty.” She patted his shoulder. “That’ll teach you not to piss me off, I expect.”

Soren bit his lip, looking at her through his lashes. Gwen just chuffed and rolled her eyes.

They would probably find out pretty soon.

**Author's Note:**

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